


Our Mutual Friend

by Pervasive_Threnody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Team, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 17:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16392215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pervasive_Threnody/pseuds/Pervasive_Threnody
Summary: It's Rodney's favorite Ancient couch, with thick, squishy cushions that swallow you up and an upholstery that always seems to be the right temperature no matter the season, and it'shiscouch and he wants a nap on it.But there's someonealready using it.





	Our Mutual Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Team Bonding 101](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/426260) by Renisanz. 



> I _love_ when fanart provides inspiration. I don't know if you'll ever see this--and I hope you'll forgive my appropriation of your idea if you do--but thank you so much, Renisanz!

He's come for a Sunday nap on his favorite Ancient couch.  He's sleepy and it's chilly outside, as chilly as Atlantis parked in the semitropics ever manages to get.  There's a faint foggy drizzle that just begs for the taking of a nap, and for once he isn't calamitously, world-explodingly busy, and so is all too happy to oblige the beckoning weather.  
  
It's Rodney's favorite Ancient couch, with thick, squishy cushions that swallow you up and an upholstery that always seems to be the right temperature no matter the season, and it's _his_ couch and he wants a nap on it.  
  
But there's someone _already using it_.  
  
On first glance from the doorway, he's just annoyed there's a someone there, taking up _his_ space.  He can see the back of the someone's head, and by the shape of the hair it's Ronon, has to be Ronon.  _Nobody_ who isn't Ronon has hair like that.  Ronon doesn't even _take_ naps.  For all Rodney knows he just runs around and beats people up all day and doesn't even bother to _sleep_ , so why?  
  
But then--it's a big couch, and Ronon's sitting upright, so maybe Rodney can just have the other side?  Ronon won't care if he wakes up sharing a couch with another guy.  Ronon is good people.  Ronon is _team_.  
  
Rodney decides to take the chance.  
  
Quietly as he can he pads around to the front of the couch by way of its left side, and there finds the _real_ surprise.  
  
Not one, not two, but _four_ people are napping on Rodney's favorite Ancient couch:    
  
Jennifer, slumped into Ronon's right shoulder, her body curving up under his arm, legs crossed and dangling over the right arm of the couch.  
  
Teyla, asleep on Ronon's left, feet tucked neatly beneath her thighs, her head leaning against his.  A little smile gives a happy shape to her tiny snores.  
  
And most surprising of all:  John, with his head on a pillow in Teyla's lap, arms crossed over his chest, the rest of him sprawling off into nowhere.  Teyla's arm splays across his chest, like she's protecting him, or quite possibly feeling him up.  Rodney wouldn't blame her.  Probably.  
  
It's a picture-perfect scene; almost, well, cute.  They look good, tumbled together, curled around each other.  Comfortable, content, happily asleep. 

He can't help a fond smile.  His team, plus one--  
  
\--minus him.  
  
_They didn't invite you.  Don't want you._  
  
The smile drops like someone took a knife and cut it.    
  
It's wrong, he knows it's wrong.  But with the ugly, intrusive thought an unexpected lump wells up in his chest and spreads to the rest of his body.  He clenches against it and turns to go...  
  
But there's a hand reaching out, tugging his hoodie shirt, trying to pull him back.  
  
Against what's left of his judgment, Rodney turns.  
  
John's green eyes blink a sleepy greeting.  A lazy bedroom grin curves up one side of his face as he gives Rodney a slow, dirty once-over.    
  
"Hey," John rumbles.  He stretches, exposing a strip of lean, golden stomach, wiggles his bare toes.  "Here y'are."  
  
In some mythical, parallel world where some hypothetical version of himself can resist a sleep-warmed, nap-rumpled John Sheppard, there's a Rodney McKay who tells, wills, forces himself to leaveleaveleavenow.  What _he_ does is stare helplessly.  What he can't do, is pretty sure no copy of himself can ever manage to do, is tear his eyes away, even when he isn't looking.  
  
"Thanks for the invite" is what comes out of his mouth when he finally opens it.  
  
"Nn."  John blinks some more, unbothered.  "Couldn't find ya."  
  
Rodney folds his arms.  "Tried hard, did you?"  It comes out snippier than he means it to, but the stupid self-criticism is still thick in his throat, and he's not about to walk it back.  
  
"Y'r headset's off," John says around a yawn.  His hand slips under Rodney's shirt and teases with callused finger pads.    
  
"What?"  Rodney unfolds an arm and feels his ear.  Nope, no headset.  The roaming hand creeps higher and he blushes.  "Oh.  It's, you know, Sunday.  Possibly I forgot it."    
  
"Yep.  Sunday.  Tried to watch a movie, got sleepy, and..."  John waves his free hand.  "Now y're here."  
  
"And now I'm leaving."  
  
"Hey, c'mon," John whines.  He plays with the hem of Rodney's shirt, takes a fistful of it and tugs again.  "Don' be like that.  Nap with us."  
  
Could it be that easy?  He eyes the couch.  His favorite couch, with his favorite people on it.  He shuffles toward it hopefully.  
  
"It, it looks a bit crowded."  
  
"Nah."  John moves to sit up.  "We'll make room."  
  
He does.  There's plenty of space for Rodney to slide into the spot on John's left side.  He draws up his legs and noses into John's neck, can't help a sigh as John's arms close warm and strong around him.  Teyla stirs, lifts her head, opens one eye, smiles at them, and shuts it again.  The others sleep on, undisturbed.  
  
It's a perfect fit.  
  
"See?"  John kisses Rodney's temple.  He melts, shedding tension he didn't know he had, and gives in to the soothing comfort of _John_ and _nap_ and _team_ and _home_.  "We'll always make room."  
  
He lets his eyes drift, lets all of him drift.  "I know," he murmurs, and believes it; really, really does.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had designs on a Goldilocks-themed title. In doing research I found instead this one, a Dickens novel which apparently features a Goldilocks-ish tale. I'm not gonna read it, lol (not a Dickens fan by _any_ imaginative stretch), but thanks for the title, Charles!


End file.
